Everyony Deserves a Second Chance
by firelight-27
Summary: Emilie finds herself suddenly entrapped in the lair of a man she just doesn't understand. Is he dangerous? His music is so beautiful...Had she died? Then how had she gotten here? And why could she suddenly understand French. By the way..what was the year?
1. Death is Like a Thief in the Night

I rolled fitfully in my sleep, my bedcovers wadded in a heap on the floor. Glowing eyes taunted me, danced about me in the darkness. I spun about, the hem of my brilliantly golden gown swirling about my ankles. I stood in a glaring spotlight, the only source of illumination in the caverness void. Frantically I glanced about me, spinning this way and that as footsteps echoed ominously from different directions, as if my mysterious tormenter were pacing about me in ever tightening circles.

All I could see in all directions was inky blackness, no matter how hard I stared into the dark. Now and then there was a flash of green, a smooth jade green that glinted with genius, cunning, seduction...and a touch of madness.

The sounds ceased and I stilled, barely drawing breath, my ears straining to listen to the absolute night. The complete silence was heavy and opressing, and after a few moments of quiet, my heart began to pound harder, filling my head. Anything was better than the terrifying silence. At that moment a voice broke out of the darkness to greet me. A beautiful, melodious, and sensual voice. It beckoned me...called to me, but I wasn't quite sure of the words. The voice calmed me. My frantic breathing evened out and I closed my eyes slowly, hypnotized by the wonderful sound that caressed my ears. As I listened it grew louder, more distinct. Yet I could not pick out words. My entranced mind struggled to place it...and then I realized that it was a foreign dialect. French. Yes, that was correct. Soft, flowing French from the tongue..of whom?

The lilitng melody died away slowly and drowned me in silence once more, and I slowly opened me eyes. A masked face stared back. I screamed...and sat bolt upright in my bed. Disoriented, my eyes flitted back and forth, taking in my surroundings. Slowly, I inhaled. _A dream...just a dream._

I had been having these nightmares for weeks. No...not nightmares. Not quite.There was much pleasure in the alluring voice, the most magical voice I had ever heard. But there was the darkness...darker than any night, deep and soundless. It was chilling. More than chilling, it was horrifying. And those eyes. They were sensual and passionate and I felt drawn to them, lethally attracted. There was extreme intelligence there, and wisdom, an understanding of things most humans chose to ignore. Understanding of the heart, of passion and beauty. But they also had a crazed quality, a deep-set anger, and an unsatisfied hunger. A danger shone out of their depths, and I knew they dared me. Those eyes spoke to me, casting their spell and demanding my obedience, while at the same time coaxing me. They were gentle, yet harsh all in one. I felt trapped by them, like a bird in a cage, but at the same time my soul screamed for me to obey, yearned to obey, to answer a resounding yes to every command.

I shook my head. This was nonsense. I had never had dreams so vivid before. What was happening? I felt a twinge of pain in my head. _Damn headaches, _I thought, reaching for the advil I kept on my bedside table. I downed a few and slid back under the covers, humming softly to myself the strange song that belonged to the mask. In moments I was asleep.

* * *

The next morning I rolled from my bed and padded to the kitchen for a steaming cup of coffee. I sipped it distractedly, staring out the window at the soft, powdery snow that created a blanket over the outdoor world. Eyes danced through my mind and I had a sudden desire to draw. I was a professional artist and I was suddenly inspired by the haunting, shadowed face that inhabited my dreams.

I made my way to my draft table, clearing the surface of my latest project, a portrait of a rodeo cowboy, and drew out a fresh sheet of paper. Throughout the day I drew, the image flowing from my mind as if by magic. Generally I used refrences to create my artwork, but on this day my fingers knew where to go and what strokes to use. I even pulled out my paints, something I wasn't too familiar with, as I preferred the erasable feature of pencils.

As the sun began to sink once more I drew back from the finished work, gazing at it critically. It shocked me. That face stared back at me from the paper, as real as it had seemed in my dreams. The eyes blazed out of a partially covered visage, the white mask that hid the right half molded and creased to look somewhat angry. I chuckled as I considered the painting. _Damn sexy though_, I thought. _I think I'll force a mask like that on my next boyfriend_.

I stood from my seat, glancing outside. _Was it really that late? _I'd been at my work all day. I sighed, wondering if I could even make a profit on the spontaneous piece. Oh well, sometimes I needed to create just for myself. I yawned and stretched. Time once more to hit the sack. I luxuriated in a hot shower before slipping into my bedclothes, choosing a daring silk piece of lingerie. It had always been my favorite, red and soft, and it smelled wonderfully. In no time I was asleep.

* * *

Tonight the dream was different. I stood alone once more, and the familiar darkness surrounded me. But this time it wasn't a void. Solid wood creaked beneath my feet and I realized I was standing on a stage. I could see the outlines of the theater's hundreds of velvet backed chairs spread out before me. My gown this night was exotic and bare shouldered, unlike the victorian style I so often sported in these nightime jaunts to another reality.

I turned slowly. It wasn't so dark as before, I could make out objects...and shadows. The stage seemed empty and I paced to the side, reaching out to touch the soft curtains. They were smooth and velvety under my fingers...and singed. Had there been a fire here? I didn't have time to contemplate this however, as something moved quickly behind me. I jumped, swirling about to gaze into the shadows. Nothing stirred. I held my breath, listening intently. Where was the mysterious stranger who sang to me? I longed to hear his voice once more.

As I stared hard into the dark, searching and listening, I felt something graze my shoulder, and it caused me to gasp sharply in shock. I froze. Whomever it was touched my neck softly, running a leather glove across the ridge of my chin and brushing back my curls. A second hand moved to touch my waist and I could suddenly feel a man at my back, his body pressed up against mine and his breath in my ear. He had melted out of the blackness so quickly I had no time to react. I felt chills run up my spine as he caressed the side of my face. If I turned, would I see those eyes?

My body was tensed, afraid, and my heart pounded uncontrollably in my chest. In response to my discomfort, the stranger ran his hand gently down my side so that he held my waist to his body, and I shivered, both out of pleasure and fear. I could hear the fluttering of my pulse and the slow, calm breaths of the stranger, but nothing else. Slowly, a song began, a hum that flooded my brain, and it took me a moment to realize it was the man who was creating the beautiful music. His voice grew stronger, louder, and I recognized the french melody that lulled me into a state of calm in each and every one of my nightmares. His arms moved to encircle my body completely, holding me tightly and securely. The message was mixed. His embrace said that he would protect me from the darkness, that I need not be alone, that his music would save me from the terror that might otherwise capture my mind in the still loneliness of the night. Yet it seemed posessive as well. _You are mine_, he seemed to say, with his gentle, yet firm hold upon me. I was both apprehensive and content. It mingled in my mind and confused me.

An intense pain began to fill my head rather suddenly, drowning out the lullaby of the Frenchman. I fought to dispell the agony as it grew stronger, straining to catch the song once again, to feel its entrancing powers. In terror I spun about to face my stalker, staring into the eyes of a madman. His lips still moved, his song continued, but I could hear nothing. I stared into his intense eyes, his fierce gaze boring into me. As in all of my dreams I began to back away, to attempt an escape. This time the man held onto me, refusing to allow me to run. His arms were still about me and they tightened opressively as I struggled, flailing my arms and pushing against his broad chest.

His stunning jade orbs seemed angry. Angry that I was trying to leave him, to disobey. Rage flared up like a fire within their depths and I shrieked in terror...and pain. The pain was ripping through my head like a stampede of elephants. I thrashed my head from side to side in agony. The stranger, the apparition...the ghost, grasped my chin firmly with one gloved hand and forced me to look at him. I stared, tears streaming down my cheeks. His gaze softened, coaxing me, attempting to comfort me, pleading with me to trust him. I melted in his grip, ceasing to struggle. My mind screamed yes at him.

Yet the pain wouldn't leave me, it grew worse. I reached up with my hands as he released my face, gripping the sides of my head and squeezing my eyes shut. I could feel the stranger stroking my hair reassuringly, but it did not ease the pain. I slumped forward against him, head on his chest, weeping and staining his handsome bronze vest with tears. He cradled me against him and sang to me, and as numbness settled over me I could hear the words...and I could understand. Blackness came to take me and the last image I saw was a woman sighing her last, her hand falling limply to her side as she closed her eyes in the sweet release of death.


	2. Surprise, surprise

Erik was in a foul mood. He splashed through the derelict tunnels beneath his opera house noisely, abondoning his usual stealth. There had been looters within his beautiful sanctuary, a magnificent shrine to the performing arts...to music. **_His_** opera house. Even as it sat, cold and empty, he could feel the melodies resonating from the farthest reaches of the great arched ceiling to the depths of the putrid waters swirling about in this underground labyrinth. The grand performances of the world renouned opera populaire lingered here. There had been much that had not been destroyed in the great fire...costumes and props, beauties and trinkets. Erik's rightful property, at least in his mind. How dare anyone attempt and ransack the sacred edifice.

It had been nine months since the chandelier crash. The building had been cleared out and roped off while the harmful smoke fumes had wafted away. In time, reconstruction began. Scaffoldings were rebuilt, the stage repaired, curtains, ropes, and velvet backed chairs replaced. There were new owners and a new show was being prepared. Erik had even been able to spy on the new management when they had made stops to check on the final preparations in the past couple of weeks. Apparently an opera had been written detailing the story of the Phantom, and it was to be the premier performance. Erik was highly intrigued. He expected them to botch the story, to make it more flamboyant and exaggerated than it was in actuality, but he would watch it nonetheles.

The managers had never stayed long, glancing about themselves nervously. He had grinned to himself, slinking farther back into the shadows. They murmured fearfully about the opera ghost. He had, of course, disappeared after the fire. Disappeared to wallow in despair. For months he had wandered aimlessly, making his way out into the countryside, hardly caring if he lived or died. Slowly, bitterness and resentment had grown to take the place of his sorrow. And hatred. He had tracked down Mdme. Giry, something that wasn't too difficult for a man of his cunning. She had relocated to a rural area, so there was no need for him to risk being seen in the crowded streets of Paris. She had been shocked to see him.

He had laid accusations against her, blamed her for betraying him to Raoul. _How had he found his lair? Certainly not on his own, that half brained fop_. She had wept and begged forgiveness, claiming that it was for his own good. Erik had rejected her desperate apologies and readied himself to leave. Perhaps she had stabbed him in the back..Madame Giry, his only friend. But she had introduced him to the opera house, to his one true love, and for that he would always be grateful. He would do her no harm, even in his agitated stage of rage. Feeling immensly guilty and desperate to redeem herself, his former saviour had told him of all that had happened since his disappearance, and all that was about to take place:

"They believe you to be dead," she intoned, reaching out to halt his departure. He stared down at the hand clasped to his elbow, his eyes moving up to her face. She seemed to take this as a cue to continue. "I told them that I had seen you, that I had braved a late escape from the flames to search your lair once more, after they had given up the hunt." Her accent was very heavy. "I told them you had taken your life in despair. The new managers and their troupe are wary of the opera house. They truly believe it to be haunted. You can return Erik."

He had stared at her for a moment, disbelieving. Return to the opera house? As a spirit to haunt the many halls?

"If they see you, if you make your presence known, it will be blamed on your ghost. You are now truly The Phantom. They are solid in their belief that you are, without a doubt, deceased." Her eyes had begged for some sign of happiness, of thankfulness. She had produced a familiar white object from a dresser drawer and Erik had accepted it gingerly, slipping it onto his face and hiding his deformity once more. When he raised his head he could see his reflection in the mirror behind Mdme. Giry. The Phantom had returned.

It had only been a couple of months. His lair had remained untouched. The fire hadn't spread down into the watery tunnels. His music was there, and all of his belongings with it. He had relished in his organ for weeks on end, realizing how much he had missed it. And now these thieves were rummaging through the opera house whilst it was still closed, and for the day, empty. The performers hadn't moved in yet. He had toyed with the criminals, scaring them half to death. There was plenty of rope about and Erik had a terrible urge to strangle any one of them, yet he had resisted. He had resisted because he remembered the words of Christine, who had once upon a time been his angel. Remembering was what set him off the most, what made his temperature rise and his blood boil. Damn her, that little wench. She had toyed with his heart, made him hope. She was false. Perhaps she had kissed him, touched his monstrous face. But he had heard her that night on the roof. "Can I ever escape from that face that was so distorted, deformed..it was hardly a face?" The kiss had been out of pity, not love. Angrily, he kicked a rat out of his path. Why couldn't he just forget?

He drew up short as he entered his lair, pausing to listen. Something was amiss and he could sense it. In his fit of anger, he hadn't bothered to use the boat, so he was knee deep in pale green water. Carefully he waded through it, the water rippling silently past his legs as he moved. As he ascended the stairs to the place he had called home for so many years, he surveyed his surroundings. His brilliant jade eyes lit on something piled in front of his precious organ.

_Christine_, his mind thought. He suddenly found that he couldn't bring himself to take another step. It was a woman, a woman with long curly tresses which were deep brown in color. She was curled in a fetal position, laying on her side with her back to him. _No, not Christine, _he berated himself. It couldn't be Christine. Why would she come back when she had that rich little bratt? No, this girl was different. Her body posessed more curvature, and her hair was lighter, streaked with blonde. He would know Christine anywhere, he had worshipped her for so long. This was not Christine. He made his way to her prone form, kneeling down. Her chest rose and fell slowly as he watched her. For some reason he was relieved she was alive. _I wouldn't want a body laying about my lair_, he reasoned to himself.

She was exceptionally beautiful and Erik couldn't help but notice how scantily clad she was. Her clothing was quite the opposite from appropriate in both size and cut. It was short enough so that she was bared from the waist down but for a pair of undergarments that barely constituted underwear. She was also fairly gifted in the area of her bossom, and the dipping collar and threadlike straps of the red silk garment gave him a rather revealing view. His eyes were roving over her body and he knew better, but he made no attempt to look away. _What shall I do with her?_ He was reminded painfully of Christine once more, as he lifted her from the stone floor and carried her towards his elaborate swan-shaped bed. Even if the familiarity of the situation made his heart tighten and ache, he wasn't about to leave a woman laying on the cold, hard ground. If nothing else, The Phantom was a gentleman. He placed her gently into the bed and allowed himself one last glance at her beautiful sleeping form before he pulled the curtains closed and headed towards his patiently awaiting instrument.


	3. Kidnapped? Dead? Or Just Plain Crazy!

My sleep was dreamless for the first time in the past month. There was no horrifying darkness, no masked man who was a mixture of both terror and seduction, and most importantly, no pain. Not even the nagging headache that plagued every moment of my life reared it's ugly head, as I began to drift slowly into wakefulness. The soothing scent of melting wax met my nostrils, and a flickering light danced across my closed eyelids. I could hear a romantic melody drifting to me from somewhere in the background. Perhaps I was dreaming after all. No matter. I luxuriated in my suddenly comfortable bed, savoring the feeling of well-being that I was experiencing.

As I emerged from the land of sleep, more of my mental facilities began to switch themselves on. My brain began badgering me to notice something. I wished I could just roll over and shut it off like an alarm clock. I crept in to a higher consciousness and began to realize what my mind was telling me. The music was not in my head. It was in the room with me. _But I don't have a piano_, I thought dazedly. _And I live alone. _This is the thought that brought me fully awake and caused me to open my eyes.

What I saw shocked me. I wasn't in my own bed. There was a sheer black curtain surrounding me, and the sheets I lay upon were a deep red velvet. I sat up quickly. Candles on tall, ornate stands flickered beyond the curtain, but I couldn't see much more than that. _What in the name of all that was sane was going on?_

The song continued to play, echoing off of the walls with a quality that suggested it was live music rather than a recording. I reached out gingerly for a tassled rope that raised the curtains, swinging my feet out of the bed. I shivered as they touched the cold stone floor. Looking around, I realized that I was in what seemed to be a cavern. The walls were stone, and there was a pool of murky green water at the bottom of a few steps. I also noted that the bed I had been sleeping in was a large, gracefully crafted swan. _What kind of place was this?_

There was a small side table beside the bed, whereupon sat a dining tray. I peeked beneath the silver cover and the scent of hot food drifted out to invade my senses. My stomach grumbled. Ignoring my hunger I stood, seeing a large mahogany armoire standing against the wall before me. A beautiful, yet simple dress had been draped over a chair next to it, a pile of undergarments folded on the seat.

The music continued to weave its' way around the corner. I looked down at what I was wearing. _Dear God, had someone seen me in this? _Whoever lived here obviously knew of my presence, as they had provided me food and clothing. I blushed a red that surely matched my skimpy lingerie. The only reason I had put it on was because I loved the feeling of the silk on my skin. I lived alone and there was no worry about being seen.

A sudden thought occured to me. _Had I been kidnapped and brought here?_ It was the only logical answer. That could explain the pain in my dream. Perhaps I had been struck over the head to ensure I remained unaware. I slipped into the dress, fighting with the corset. At least it was a front loader, or else I would never have been able to fasten it. I felt much more comfortable fully clothed, even though my breathing was now seriously restricted.

I listened to the music for a moment more before venturing cautiously around the corner. The tune changed suddenly and I stopped short, managing to crash into a small table. My mouth gaped. It was the song from my dream, the song the stranger had sang. His countenance invaded my mind. He was always vaguely familiar to me, but I had never gotten a clear look at him until my last dream. Now that I had been face to face with the man, he was even more familiar. Why?

A thought struck me suddenly. The Phantom of the Opera. I had never seen the film, though I had read the novel. My friend was obsessed with the latest remake and had shown me a few pictures of the decidedly sexy phantom. There was no way in hell I had fallen into a movie.

I slapped myself mentally. _Calm down. You don't know the song, it probably doesn't have any relation to the film, _I told myself. _Just because The Phantom manifested in your dreams doesn't mean he is your kidnapper. But how did the perpetrator know this song? _ Perhaps he had played it for me in my sleep. Maybe thats why it was in my dreams in the first place.

The music had stopped as I knocked the table over and I hurried to pick it up. As I found my way around the corner, I could see the organ from which the tune had issued. It now sat deserted. Whomever was playing had left, or was hiding. I made my way cautiously towards it. Candles blazed everywhere and I was surprised the occupant of this...this...lair, hadn't managed to burn up the numerous books and papers scattered about. I touched the keys gently. Such beautiful music. Someone who could have that much artistic ability couldn't possibly be a dangerous serial killer...could they?

I snooped around a bit more, glancing at book titles and scattered pieces of parchment that were scribbled on, but not daring to invade the privacy of whoever lived here. A single object caught my eye. I gasped sharply as I reached out to stroke the smooth surface. The mask was beautiful...and I had seen it before. It was designed to cover only half of the face, and there were creases in the smooth white porcelain that gave it a stern look. I couldn't help but marvel at it's stunning craftsmanship.

My mind worked frantically. I knew now who owned this chamber. Erik, The Phantom of the Opera. So I had been correct...But this wasn't possible! He wasn't even real! The Phantom of the Opera, though a terrifically well written story, was purely fiction wasn't it? I pondered this. I supposed it could have been factual, though labelled fiction in the bookstores, but what were the odds? And even if it was a true story, it would have occured hundreds of years ago in Paris. Besides all that, it was impossible for the actual phantom to look exactly like the one portrayed in the modern film.

I felt like swooning, something I would have been loathe to do. _Get a grip girl! _I berated myself mentally. I hurried back to the bed, sinking into it's comfort. Famished, I drug the table with the food towards me. If it was truly Erik, I didn't think he would poison me. Perhaps he was a murderer of men, but his character in the novel admired the beauty of women too much to slaughter them needlessly. If I had simply been kidnapped (I laughed at the term "simply" that I had just used in my thoughts), and I was still living in reality, then it made no sense to abduct me just to kill me. Why go through the trouble of knocking me out, transporting me, and giving me a bed and clothing?

I ate hungrily, convinced the unfamiliar and delicious dish was something French. I then flopped backwards into the bed. _What was the world coming to?_ I fell instantly to sleep to block out my fear and confusion.


	4. Real! I'm Not Crazy!

The Phantom stood at the foot of the bed, watching the girl silently. His expression was unreadable. He had observed her as she explored his lair, concealing himself easily in the shadows. He noted how reverently she caressed the ivory of the organ, much like the touch of a lover. So she appreciated his music. His annoyance at her sudden intrusion into his underground world tapered off to be replaced by intrigue. By the way she had acted, he doubted if she even knew where she was, or how she had gotten there. She had seemed very confused and disoriented.

He had also seen how she glanced at his belongings and had looked curious about what was written upon them. Yet she had respected his privacy, and with some effort it seemed. But her most interesting reaction was to the mask. She had been instantly mezmerized by it, touching it gently, her expression slack with wonder. The porcelain object had seemed to set off a reaction in her mind. She had leapt back from it as if scalded, and ran back to the comforts of his bed. It was almost as if she recognized it...and that scared her.

Erik furrowed his brows at this. Who was this girl? And what was he going to do with her? _She is impeding my work,_ he thought, _I should get rid of her._ But he didn't really want her to go, not deep down, though he wouldn't admit it even to himself. No one really wanted to be alone. _Perhaps...no. _An idea was taking root in the genius's head. _That probably wouldn't be the wisest choice. And yet... _Before he had fallen for Christine, he had wanted her for his own gratification. He had molded her, perfected her voice. He had created a star diva, and he had placed her in a position to succeed. She had been **_his _**work of art, and the world was being allowed to witness his genius. They didn't appreciate him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. They feared him and hated him. If he were to fashion another star performer, make her world renouned, then he would have his applause.

In fact, he would ensure that she informed her audience of her tutor, the recently deceased Phantom. If she wasn't to be believed, he would force proof upon them. He would make appearences, and he would claim her publicly. Everyone would know that this rising talent was under the tutelage and management of the Opera Ghost. Erik smirked to himself. Yes, he liked the way this plan was unfurling in his mind, rolling faster like a snowball down an icy mountain, gathering speed and mass.

Everything he had done up to that point was on impulse, the food and clothing, and the lurking about and spying. Now he had purpose. He would not allow her to see him. Not yet. He wanted to remain a mystery to her. He would become her angel of music, and would entrance her with his voice. She would of course fall prey to him. She would allow her soul to be seduced by his song, which would only serve to increase the beauty of her own melodies. Passion was a key element in the success of a blooming singer. He would tutor her daily, but he would not release her from his lair. Not yet. He would provide her with the means to entertain herself, but he wanted to ensure her servitude before he loosed her on the world. And he wanted to learn more about her.

Things would be different this time. He would not allow himself to become attached to this girl. She was a thing, like a lovely composition. He would cherish her for her beauty, both physically and musically. But he would not allow himself to become enraptured with her soul, or let her essence touch his heart. He would be her benevolent yet stern master. He would both coax and force her to be his. She would be well rewarded for her obedience. She would be famous, and rich, but she must remain at the opera house. He would bestow upon her gifts and favors, but if she stepped out of line, his anger would descend swiftly upon her. His mind rolling about with plans, Erik slipped off through his secret passage.

* * *

I woke once again to a silver tray and a new gown. Well, if I had been kidnapped, my kidnappers were a little strange. I spent some of my time attempting to play the compositions spread across the golden organ, and the rest of my time searching for a lever of some sort that opened the gate. If whomever it was intended to keep me here, they could at least provide me something to do or else I would go crazy. As the day waned, or at least I guessed it was nearing night, as no sunlight could find it's way down into these caverns, I found myself itching to bathe. I eyed the murky green water dubiously. It didn't look too sanitary.

I glanced around as I had been doing all day. I had the constant feeling I was being watched. Of course, I was probably being paranoid, but my captor had to have a way to observe me and ensure I was asleep before he delivered my food and clothing. I hovered in indecision. Finally, the desire to be clean overpowered me, and I crept down the stairs, disrobing as quickly as possible and splashing into the greenish water. It was rather shallow and I had to sit down to ensure that my body was fully submerged. If there was a peeping tom about, he would have only caught a quick glimpse. Soon I forgot about my pridicament, lounging in the tepid liquid. It didn't feel at all grimy, and the water wasn't, in actuality, that filthy. My strange bath was interrupted however, by a voice that filled the entire cavern. I looked about quickly, causing the water to splash.

It was him, the voice from my dreams. I sank down farther into the pool, my chin touching the surface. He was conversing with me whilst singing. I listened, finding myself sliding into that state of mind in which I had no power over my actions.

"Who are you?" His voice echoed off of the stone walls.

I began to answer, but I was hushed. "Sing," he instructed.

"Adrianne," I answered, attempting to force the waver out of my voice.

"Adrianne..." his reply was somewhere between a hiss and a whisper. I shuddered. He began to sing then, that same song I had heard so many times before...

"Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation...darkness stirs and wakes imagination."

I closed my eyes, enthralled by the song. "Sing," he urged gently, and I obeyed his command, my voice merging with his in a duet. For some unexplainable reason, I knew the words instinctively. As the melody ended he instructed me to begin again, and listened silently as I sang. He would stop me now and again, and give instruction. He was gentle and encouraging, and I felt a magic spreading through me, as if the simple act of his perfect voice touching my ears had heightened my own ability.

This went on for a time, and then he was gone just as suddenly. I called out, but there was no answer. Cautiously, I waded towards solid ground, hugging the wall and clambering up into a corner near the bed. He couldn't possibly see me here. I noticed something laying on the silk covers and reached for it. It was a towel. I wrapped it quickly about me, breathing easier once I was fully covered. Had he been a gentleman and turned his back? Or had he watched me?

I slipped into a beautiful silk night gown that was left for me and jumped into the bed, feeling a bit giddy. _Singing lessons? Is that what he intends for me to do? Does he want me to sing for him? _I pondered this... _Does he even think I'm that good? _Still, it couldn't possibly be The Phantom. My kidnapper must have sang to me in the night. That was why the song, and the voice, were familiar. I sighed, both out of relief and sadness. Relief because I wasn't crazy, sadness because deep down I really would have liked it to be The Phantom.

The lessons went on for a few days. I was loosing track of time. The morning after my first lesson, I awoke to find a brand new, leather bound book atop my pile of clothing. There was a quill pen and a bottle of ink as well. I opened the front cover hurredly.

_"A journal for your enjoyment, Madmoiselle._

_O. G."_

This was enscribed in a flowing script on the first page. I smiled. At least I'd have something else to do. I began to write about all of my experiences. I wrote about suddenly being here, and my theories. I wrote about everything.

Each day there would be something new waiting for me. There would also be a letter signed O.G., which I assumed meant Opera Ghost. There was a novel for me to read, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and the next day a few newspapers from the world outside. These I grasped urgently and began to look through. The date read 1871. I nearly passed out. This couldn't be possible. This madman...this kidnapper...he must have **thought **he was The Phantom, or wanted me to believe he was. I tossed the papers aside.That evening, after our lesson, I asked him to sing for me. I asked him to sing his works. He obliged me, and I would listen to his voice as I climbed into bed and drifted to sleep.

The fourth day I awoke with a thornless red rose lying across my chest. It was tied with a black ribbon. I held it up gingerly, admiring it. _Did this man watch me at night?_ I wondered. I wanted deperately to see who it was. I needed to prove to myself that it was not Erik, and that I didn't belong in the loony bin. _I suppose I could feign slumber well enough. Its worth a try._

* * *

That night I closed my eyes, listening to his wonderous voice drift through the cavern. I waited for long moments, what had to have been many hours after the last note fell upon my ears. Yet nothing happened. The next thing I knew I was waking with a start. I must have dozed off. I opened my eyes slowly. The room was dark, and only one candle burned next to my bed. I shifted my eyes to its wavering flame, sighing.

My gaze wandered to the foot of my bed, and I gasped in shock. Somone was standing there, clothed in darkness, watching me. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut and pray that he would go away, but his very presence demanded that I continue staring. The man who stood before me, halfway concealed in the shadows as if he were born of them, was indeed whom I was hoping it wouldn't be, whilst longing it would.

Erik stared back, his face an emotionless mask. His jades eyes glinted in the soft glow of the candle, the flame giving a yellowish cast to his pearly white mask. I sat up slowly, my eyes never leaving his face. After a moment of silent staring, he walked around the end of the bed, approaching me. _This couldn't be happening, _my mind screamed at me. I shrunk back as he drew near, and he paused, sensing my fear. It wasn't that I was afraid of him, though I was. Though the man was frightening in his intensity, I would have swallowed the hard lump in my throat just to touch his pale skin. I was most afraid of the fact that it **was **him, which meant that either I was a psychopath, or I had been thrown into the 19th century, with no way of returning to my own.

"Adrianne..." he said, and reached out to touch my face gently, almost reverantly, as if admiring a piece of artwork. This was enough to send me leaping out of the bed. This wasn't just an apparition. His fingers had felt real against my skin. I stumbled clumsily down the steps, splashing through the water and refusing to turn and look back at him. If I saw those eyes once more I would be trapped by my desire.

I threw myself at the place where I knew the gate should be, the dark doing nothing for my sense of navigation. There was nothing there. Had he opened it? Having no time to ponder the particulars I ran through the opening, turning down a dimly lit corridor. I had no idea where I was running to, but I had to get away from him. My mother had been instituionalized, and before she had been locked away I had struggled to keep her with me, and out of that white walled prison. But she had been so completely mad, screaming at nothing, or staring silently into space. She had put herself and others in danger many times, and I had nearly wrung myself dry from all the tears shed over the entire ordeal. There was no way in hell I could be crazy! Not like her...

I heard splashing behind me but refused to turn and look. I wasn't like one of those idiots in corny horror movies. They were doomed the moment they looked behind them. I scrambled left around a corner, and right around a second...and fell flat on my face. _Where the hell had that rat come from? And why was it as large as a small terrier?_

As I lifted my head, sputtering and flailing to rise, I felt a weight press down on top of me. Hands grappled with me, pinning my arms to my sides. I struggled terribly, kicking and writhing in sheer terror. Erik dragged me up, spinning me around and slamming me up against the brick wall. His grip was like a vice. I stared into his eyes...he looked furious.

"You little wench!" he spat, "haven't I given you everything you require?" His eyes were crazed. If I only knew that he was remembering a past incident, and that it fueled his rage.

I shook my head furiously from side to side. "You're not real!" I screamed, kicking at him with my legs, "you are not real!"

This seemed to confuse him, and his expression softened. He could have reasoned that the story of The Phantom had spread, and that I had heard of him. He could have been described to me, and I could have been running from what I believed to be a ghost. This man was certainly not a ghost, he was solid and real. Or else he simply could have thought I was loony, which at that moment I was beginning to believe was the truth. _Not real!_ I forced the thought to repeat over and over in my mind.

"Listen to me," he was saying, but I would have none of it. I freed one of my arms and lashed out at him, catching his mask with my clawing fingers. It was ripped from his face and hit the water with a splash. He reeled back in surprise, flinging me into the shallow liquid and clutching at his exposed deformity. I sat there, shocked, my rear end throbbing.

His black hair which had been so carefully slicked back was now disheveled. He whirled on me, the visible part of his face even more furious than before. "Damn you!" he screamed, and I gaped at him. He reached down into the water to search for his mask and I scrambled backwards, coming to my senses as he continued to curse me. I had barely even glimpsed the marred flesh...

In seconds I was up and running down the many twisting corridors once again. I could hear the splashes receding as he hunted for his precious porcelain. I began to cry as I ran. He was real. Or I was crazy. What the hell was happening? For some reason I could deal with a kidnapping. But I didn't know if I could deal with this.

A spiraling staircase presented itself for me and I began to ascend it at a rapid pace. Where would I go? What would I do? He was a dangerous man. I couldn't stay with him could I? But how would I survive in 19th century Paris? Would he now kill me in a rage...both for escaping and for looking upon his face? So many things to fret over. I wasn't given the chance. As I barreled up the stairs my footing gave way. I had sprung a trap door in one of the steps and now I was plummeting downwards, air rushing past my ears.

I hit the water hard and sank like a rock. As I broke the surface, gasping for breath, I could see an iron grate descending rapidly towards me. It grated noisely as it approached, a booby trap meant to both drown and crush intruders. Just what I needed...


	5. What? How? Who exactly are you!

_Damn her, _Erik fumed, thrashing about in the murky water in an attempt to retrieve his mask. _Damn me as well, _he conceded, as his fingers brushedthe familiar object. He scooped it up and dried it quickly with a corner of his cape, hiding his disfigurement once again. He shouldn't have opened the gate. There were other paths, though longer and more complicated, to reach the diva's dressing rooms. He needn't have raised the grate. Yet he hadn't expected her to wake. She had slept so peacefully these past few days, and even more deeply since he had begun his nightly lullabies. He had indulged himself by watching her slumber. Why not watch her? She was indeed beautiful, and he was locked away in this dungeon... Why not admire a wonderfully crafted sculpture when one had the chance?

_Foolish, _he scolded himself, as he stamped off in the direction which she had taken. It was too soon to allow her to see him. He had obviously needed more time to ensnare her mind. When her eyes had snapped open, for whatever reason, he had counted on his mystery and charm to weaveit's spell. Yet these devices hadn't worked, not this time. Perhaps his music alone had enthralled Christine. Perhaps his visage was truly frightening to look upon, mask or no mask.

Luckily for the Phantom, this particular passage did not branch out, but led towards a massive set of spiraling stairs...laden with traps. He knew he must hurry. Most of his traps were not designed to keep a prisoner alive for any length of time.

The Opera Ghost wasn't the same man he had been before, not after all that had taken place in the last year. He was even more prone to fits of rage, and his fuse was just that much shorter. He had always been somewhat unstable, though never truly bad tempered. Nor evil, never evil. Erik had a good heart. He was simply confused, hurt, more than a bit disgruntled with society, and had a few control issues. He had to be in charge of every situation. He pulled the strings, and no one else.

As his anger subsided, and Erik gained control of his unpredictable emotions once more, a thought struck him. Adrienne hadn't worn that familiar look of fear and loathing that was reserved by so many just for him. If he hadn't been so consumed by his fiery temper, he would have caught it sooner. Erik was sharp. In fact, he was more than sharp. He was a well practiced observer. Being a genius entailed more than artistic ability,but included many other skills of the mind.

There was a different type of fear masking the girl's delicate features. She had seemed to look right through him, tried to block out not only him, but her surroundings as well. "You aren't real..." echoed through his mind, "none of this is real. I can't be here in this century!" Perhaps he had been described to her. No doubt he was a legend on the streets of Paris by now. A horror story to be whispered about, and used to scare little children. But she had whispered the statement of denial with such familiarity. As if she had **seen **him before...knew him. That couldn't be possible. Who in the hell was this girl? And what had she meant, "I can't be in this century.." Was she suggesting she was a time traveler? Erik actually paused in his pursuit of the girl at this absurd thought. Was she mad? What was he dealing with?

A plot began to formulate in his mind. He would have her. She would sing for him, and his grand scheme would succeed. If it took his music to bind her to him, then he would give her his music. Chords of a familiar tune danced through his mind. Yes, it was perfect.

* * *

I clambered futiley at the walls, attempting to maintain a grip on the slippery surface. There was an opening a few feet above me, if I could only reach it before the death trap descended any further. But the slimy stone was too slick and there were no handholds. My mind working frantically, I dove beneath the surface, pushing at the water as I sunk deeper into it's depths. Something loomed out at me and I swam towards it, grasping onto it like a lifeline. It was a large wheel, and it occurred to me that it must operate the grate. I tugged at it, kicked it, and slammed my body into it, but to no avail. It wasn't going to budge.

Resurfacing, I surveyed my surroundings. There didn't seem to be any other options. _Think, _I demanded of myself. I had never been one to panic in a tricky situation. There was only one thing left for me to do. Feeling like a fool, and hoping desperately that the Phantom wouldn't be too angry with me, I filled my lungs with air in preparation to scream his name.

Before I could belt out my pleas for rescue, I heard the sickening screech of metal against metal, and I watched as the grate began to climb upwards. Confused, I spun about in the water, to be faced by my pursuer...now my saviour. He reached down with a gloved hand, his expression unreadable. I took it gingerly, watching his face carefully for any hint of anger.

He helped me gently from the water, pulling the cape from about his shoulders with an elegant flourish. He wrapped me tightly in it's warmth, and pressing a hand to the small of my back, urged me down the tunnel. I looked up into his eyes with wonderment. What had happened to the enraged monster of minutes before, the man whom I was so sure would kill me for my desertion?

_What an interesting dream this was_, I thought dazedly, my eyes glued to his. I wondered vaguely if my mouth was hanging open. I was obviously slipping into the second stage of psychosis...denial. Denial that everything I was experiencing was unquestionably real. But at the moment, I was blissfully unaware of this fact.

He steered me through passages that were suddenly lit with wonderful golden torches. They reflected off of his pale skin and his ivory mask, giving him an angelic glow. I said not a word, allowing him to guide me upwards, hand in hand with this beguiling specter. His eyes never seemed to leave mine for but a moment at a time, and they were those sames eyes from my dreams. They seduced and entranced me, and I was surely drooling on myself by this point.

Up we went, passing through a mirror and out into a deserted bed chamber. I barely took note of the ornate furnishings, or the rich tapestries. I cared only for the Phantom. We wove through the opera house, passing empty room after empty room, before he led me up onto a large stage. He released me then, commanding me silently with his gaze. I stood rooted to the spot, watching as he made his way to centerstage, his movements as fluid as a jungle cat.

He turned about, gesturing with his arms to encompass the entire room. For the first time in what seemed like hours, I turned my eyes from his countenance, gazing out over row upon row of velvet seating. I had seen this before... I had **been** here before... Erik's soft voice, and the feel of leather on my skin, brought my wandering attention reeling back towards him. He was so close to me, his artistic hands upon my face, and I could smell an unfamiliar, but alluring cologne upon his clothing.

And then he began to sing, that song which I had heard so many times before. From that point on I was his: hook, line, and sinker. There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for him...while he was singing, in any case. I was sure it was some kind of spell I was under, but it didn't matter. It felt wonderful.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation..." He sang, pacing about me in a circle, my body turning to follow. We crossed the stage, and he stepped in close to me, taking my hand and holding it to his lips. I simply stared, my breath catching in my throat.

"...the darkness of the music of the night." He seemed to be caught up in his song, and I was being dragged along in it's wake, feeling the passion resonating through the words. He came to a particularly impressive verse and he allowed the power of the melody to flow through him, his voice rising in timber and filling my head with a deep vibrato that was more stunning than anything I'd heard from the mouth of another human being.

"Only then, can you belong to me..." This line was soft, and he stared hard at me, his eyes filled with want, boring into me as if examining my soul. I stepped involuntarily towards him. "Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation..." He was upon me now, encircling me softly with his arms, carressing my side and running his hands gently to my hips. I reached up to touch his face in awe, tracing his visible cheekbone with a finger. He closed his eyes tomy touch, as if reveling in it.

As the song ended, he seemed to be imploring me..."help me make the music of the night.." I already knew that I wanted to, that I had to be a part of this genius, had to be a part of this music that was more than music. It was the essence of beauty. We were silent for a moment, and then he stepped away slowly, my hand in his, and as he moved back my fingers slipped finally from his grip and myarm fell to my side. I stared at him.

When I spoke next, my voice was barely louder than a whisper. "Who are you Erik? Who are you really?"

* * *

The Phantom froze at the sound of his name. _But how did she know this? _He was at a loss for the first time in a very long while. Suspicion filled his mind. Who was she that she knew this? He had never even told Christine his name. How had this stange girl known? What the hell was she about? His suspicion was quickly turning dangerous, and a scowl must have touched his features, for the previously enthralled Adrienne took a few tentative steps back, looking very uncertain.

"I," stated The Phantom, keeping control of the situation, "am your angel of music." Adrienne simply gawked at him, and he allowed a disarming smile to spread across his face. "I am your tutor, your master," he stepped closer to her, and she smiled slightly and blushed a deep crimson as heat rushed into her face, "and you are my pupil. And soon, my diva."

Adrienne seemed to accept this readily, and Erik noted that his music had indeed been effective. But she wasn't quite satisfied with this answer. "You have the most wonderful voice I have ever heard, and your music is sheer pleasure, but I need to know, for my sanity, who you really are."

Erik raised an eyebrow at her. She wasn't so docile as Christine. Christine hadn't pryed, she had simply given him her mind. "Where did you hear the name 'Erik' ?" he questioned her, ignoring her query as if it hadn't been voiced.

"I..." Adrienne began, and then she stared down at her feet, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you." There was silence for a moment as he waited for her to explain herself nonetheless. Abruptly, she threw her arms up in the air, spinning away from him. "God, **_I _**don't believe me!" she said, her voice rising. "What the hell is going on!"

"Such language from a young woman, " Erik scolded lightly, refusing to act confused. Whatever she was babbling about would only become more clear with a bit of coaxing on his part. "Explain yourself," this last bit was an order, not a request.

Adrienne turned to him once more, eyeing him as if he might vanish at any moment. She reached out and touched his chest lightly. "You really are real aren't you?" she murmured, staring into his face. He simply stared back, waiting. Finally, the girl dropped her hand, sighing.

"Well, here goes. I won't blame you for strangling me after I tell you this. I mean, I must sound like a complete kook..." she trailed off. Erik had never heard of this term, "kook", before, but he ignored the odd use of language and continued to listen quietly.

"I'm from the 21st century." She paused, studying him for a reaction. He gave none, though he was far from believing her. "I'm an artist. I draw for a living. I was having these dreams...well, about you actually. And I was having these terrible headaches. One night I went to bed, had a strange dream, and woke up in your lair. Thats all there is to it really. Well, I'm sure there is more to it, but I have no clue what the hel...I mean, what in the world is going on."

Erik just stared at her with his hands clasped behind his back. _Dear Lord, perhaps she had escaped from an assylum_. Slowly, he stepped towards her, his tone perhaps a bit harsh when he next spoke. "You expect me to believe that you are a time traveler, or something of the sort?" She shrunk back from him, blinking. "And what sort of proof do you offer?"

This seemed to light a spark, and her eyes glinted at him. "Damn it Erik! I can't provide any proof from my era. The only thing I brought with me were the clothes on my back." She flushed slightly at this, no doubt remembering the "clothing" she had been wearing.

"I can tell you all about yourself! Perhaps I would know about the great fire, and the fact that there **was **a phantom here, and that you murdered people. Perhaps people in Paris have even heard of the love triangle between you, Christine, and that fop Raoul! Perhaps Mdme. Giry may have let it slip about your chilhood, and how she sheltered you in this opera house." She paused to take a breath. She was obviously emotionally distraught and screaming at this figment of her imagination was allowing a little of the pent up frustration out.

"But," she continued, "I know about the kiss, the kiss she gave you before you let her free. I know that the first time she saw you, you brought her down into your lair. I know that she fainted because of your life-size statue of herself, and you carried her to your bed. I know that she gave you her engagement ring. I know that she removed your mask whilst in your lair, and that you cursed her for it."

She paused one more time to gauge his reaction. This time, Erik couldn't hide his shock, though it came through as a look of angry annoyance. Her voice was hushed as she spoke once more. "I know that you were there on the roof when Christine proclaimed her love for Raoul. She threw your rose down. You cryed that night, and you crushed it. You swore that they would pay. You cannot say that Christine could have told me that, even though I don't even know her. She never knew. And you know for a fact that I was never a part of the cast or crew here. You knew who everyone was who came and went. I couldn't have been on that roof."

"Do not call me Erik!" the Phantom bellowed, taking a threatening step forward. She cringed away from him and he forced himself to turn his back, staring at the floorboards so hard as if to bore a hole in them. How had she known all that? Was she telling the truth? Even if she was a time traveler, what did that have to do with all this knowledge? He was angry and bewildered. Was she trying to exploit him? Or was she simply playing with his head? Why was she forcing these memories to run through his mind? He had a sudden urge to push her off the stage, but he knew he would be unable to. He wasn't a monster.

She drew a shaky breath behind him, as if she might begin to cry. Ignoring his outburst, she forged on. "I'm scared Erik. In my time, your life is a novel. I've read it. You are Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. We have things called motion pictures. It is like an opera, but it is on a screen, with moving images recorded and played back before your very eyes, like living memories. You're story was portrayed in one of these. I've seen you before. I don't know how I got here, but I do know that I have no where else to go. You are the only person I've met in this era. I do not know how to survive here. I have no family or friends. What am I supposed to do?"

Erik's temper softened as she spoke. He could hear the panic in her voice, and when he finally turned to face her, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. After a long moment of silence he opened his mouth. "I do not know what to believe," he thought he could see her shoulders slump at this. "Yet," he continued, and she seemed to perk up, "I have declared myself your tutor, and this offer still stands. You shall not question me about my past or my personal life, nor shall you speak of what you _**think** _you know about me." He stopped here to ensure she understood his instructions. She nodded wordlessly.

"You shall sing for me, and you shall not venture from this opera house. In exchange, I will provide for your needs. You shall have shelter, clothing, and sustenance. The opera house opens in two weeks time. I shall ensure your placement as the star diva. For this task, you shall remain in my services." His expression softened and he stepped towards her, reaching out to grasp her chin softly with one hand. He stroked his thumb gently across her jawline. Her eyelids fluttered and he smirked slightly. "Do you understand?"

"Crystal," she answered, and then, realizing her American slang would be useless in the current year stammered out, "of course."

Erik smiled widely, all traces of anger gone. "You shall stay in my lair for the time being. While this opera house is empty, it is a somewhat dangerous place to venture about in." He offered his elbow to her in a gentlemanly fashion. "Madmoiselle," he smiled, and she took his proferred limb and allowed herself to be led back into the depths of the underground labyrinth. _Adrianne, you are a strange one, _he thought as they descended, still unsure of what to believe, and more than a little confused at her wealth of knowledge about his personal moments.


	6. Nemesis

**_Ack, school started. I'm getting in what I can. I'm a senior so... Anyway, I live for reviews! Please send them. Thanks for everyone who has reviewed so far. Sorry this is shorter than other chapters._**

* * *

The next week was rather dull for me. Though he didn't hide from me anymore, Erik never lingered in his lair. When I awoke in the mornings, he would be playing his grand organ, and I would lay in bed and listen to the flowing music. As I rose, he always seemed to sense me. He would greet me very formally and take his leave, and I would wander back to the sleeping area to eat my breakfast, and occasionally find a small gift of some sort. He even left me some fresh parchment and art supplies. Well, even if he didn't believe me to be a time traveler, at least he had noted the fact that I was an artist.

During the day, I would draw various things: the glowing organ, the swan-bed... I would hear loud thumps and scraping on occasion, assuming it was simply workers preparing for the grand opening. _The Phantom must be busy supervising from the shadows_, I thought. In the evenings, he would make his appearance, and every day I would look forward to our nightly lessons. At their finish, he would slip off quite mysteriously, and I would change into my nightgown and flop into bed, wondering where he slept at night.

Running out of things to sketch, I decided to take a stab at The Phantom himself. It took me three whole days to complete the piece, and I tucked it securely beneath my pillow each night. No need for him to see it until it was finished. Once completed, I placed it upon the organ, looking it over. I didn't need him to stand before me as I created the work, his image was emblazoned in my mind. I smiled, quite satistfied.

When I awoke the next morning, I quickly noted the absence of music. I rolled from the bed very uncerimoniously, and tip-toed around the corner, hoping The Phantom wasn't missing. He sat with his back to me, staring silently at his portrait. I made my way cautiously towards him, and this time he did not turn at my presence as he had every morning prior. I continued to approach the piano bench and sat down next to him. He didn't move. I simply watched him stare at the drawing.

After long moments of silence he spoke. "You mock me?" he questioned, his voice low and dangerous. I gaped at him. What was he talking about?

"Of course not Er..." I stammered, but he cut me off, spinning on the bench to face me, his expression furious.

"What is the meaning of this!" I cringed away from his anger, staring wide eyed. This man was beyond unpredictable. He gave me no time to answer, standing briskly and pacing away, his steps quick and agitated.

"Do I fascinate you?" he accused, livid. "Am I some monster for you to study?" I couldn't understand why he was so upset. Did he think I had drawn him for my amusement? "This face..." his voice wavered as he spoke, refusing to look at me, "this gift from hell."

I sat in silence for a moment, trying not to feel sorry for him. He shouldn't jump to such conslusions. Did he think I would have been so completely entranced by him if I had thought him monstrous?

"Erik, calm down. You aren't a monster," I tried to make my voice sound soothing. I was scared of what he might do to me in such an emotional state. He cringed at the use of his name. Perhaps he wasn't used to it being spoken by another.

"You do fascinate me. You are so...suspenseful. You frighten me..." He turned to look at me over his shoulder, a pained expression on his face. "..but it's not your face I am scared of. Its your temper. You must admit, you have been known to be violent, and you have exploded on me more than once." He sighed audibly, covering his face with his hand. I didn't think he meant to be so manic. Perhaps he was doing his best.

"I drew you," I continued, "because you are beautiful." This last sentence caused Erik to turn about slowly, his brilliant eyes finally meeting my own.

"Beautiful?" he questioned, his voice barely audible. He looked thouroughly bewildered, but somehow touched.

"Well, beautiful wouldn't really be the word...I mean you aren't a girl. I guess I should say handsome," I stumbled over my words, realizing what I had just said. Perhaps I shouldn't have made that confession. "...and intriguing and well, mysterious. I just..." I stopped abruptly, realizing I sounded like a complete idiot. My face felt extremely hot and I averted my gaze, staring down at the piano keys.

Silence reigned once more, and feeling awkward, I decided to change the subject. "I feel badly for removing you from your bed," I commented, grasping at the first thing that came to mind.

Erik looked up from gazing at the floor. He seemed to shake himself mentally before answering. "No matter Adrienne, I make due," he smiled slightly, still looking a bit rattled, "there are many rooms available for my use in this opera house."

"But what if you are caught? Its dangerous isn't it? I mean, we could share. I could stuff pillows between us if you feel it would be more appropriate. Its a large bed Erik...may I call you Erik?" I added this last query, noticing how uncomfortable he seemed when I used his actual name, "I just feel so guilty..."

The Phantom seemed somewhat flustered by the idea, but this expression quickly turned to indignation. Perhaps he was using it as a mask to hide his thoughts, or perhaps he simply wasn't accustomed to carrying on conversations with another human for such a length of time, but I didn't appreciate his attitude.

"Certainly not, it is highly inappropriate to do so. I have no fear of being seen. Is this practice common in your time?" He seemed angry, but for what reason I couldn't tell. I had done nothing! "And you may **not **refer to me as Erik."

It was my turn to act affronted. "Then **you **may not call me Adrienne. And no, its not common practice in my era, its actually more of a taboo than anything else. But if the need arises, people can sleep in the same bed without raising any eyebrows. Or at least not many..." I glared at him as I spoke, crossing my arms over my chest. "And what in God's name am I supposed to call you then? Opera Ghost? That sounds awfully stupid."

"Teacher is acceptable, _Madmoiselle,_" he declared, plucking his cape from where it hung on the back of a chair. "I shall return for our evening lesson." And with that, he was gone. I stared after him, contemplating whether it would be too childish to stick out my tongue at him.

* * *

Erik proceeded up the long, winding staircase towards the building above. His mind whirled, and he had stop as he reached the top, leaning against a wall to support himself. Beautiful? She thought he was attractive? There was no way... No one had thought that before. What was wrong with this girl? He slipped behind the mirror and into the diva's dressing room, sliding it shut behind him. Turning, he stared into the smooth glass.

Handsome? He touched the skin of his face gingerly. Perhaps women from her era were attracted to a different type of man than his own. Slowly, he reached up and removed the mask. The flesh beneath was red and marred, touched by the hand of the devil. _But what would she think of me if she saw me as I truley am?_ He couldn't help but wonder, and he instinctively knew the answer. She would detest him.

He shook Ardrienne from his head defiantly. He would not become attached to this girl. She was his ticket to recognition. He would not allow her to call him by his name either, it would only create the false sense that they were on a friendly level. She was not his friend, nor was he hers. Perhaps he had re-acted harshly to this, and to her suggestions as well. But she needed to realize that he was not to be her companion.

Stealthily, The Phantom slipped through the shadows, climbing lithely up into the rafters above the stage. Workers were running to and fro beneath him, carrying equipment into the building and making final preparations. He had been overseeing the entire operation, adjusting things here and there and ensuring everything was to his liking. Whomever now owned the opera house was very efficient. Erik approved.

As night approached, he glanced once more at the activities below, and a familiar form caught his eye. His eyes narrowed as he attempted to get a better look. Recognition flooded his mind. No...it couldn't be. He darted hurredly across the rickety catwalks, slinking closer to his target. That rich bratt who had stolen his Christine stood backstage, consulting some paperwork. Was he funding the theater once more? Erik didn't care. All he felt was rage.

How dare he show his face here once more. Filled with sudden fury, The Phantom forgot all sense of caution, grasping a coil of rope and leaping down atop that stupid fop, Raoul. He hit his victim with a thud that left the lanky man sprawled beneath him. Skilled hands came down quickly, and the deadly weapon was about the young gentleman's neck in seconds.

Raoul struggled beneath the Opera Ghost, his hands clawing at the rope burning into his flesh. He gagged terribly, fighting to rise. Erik tightened his grip, his expression nearly psychotic. Somehow, Christine's fiance managed to rise, stumbling backwards with the weight of his attacker, and slamming the Phantom into a wall. The air was forced out of Erik's lungs and he gasped, his fingers loosening.

Raoul took this opportunity to slip from beneath the noose, turning quickly and slashing out with an arm. Erik saw something glint in the dim light and felt a cold pain shoot up his side. He lurched to the side, grasping at the sudden wound. His opponent stood before him, crimson blood dripping from a small dagger.

"Madame Giry swore to me you were dead," Raoul declared through gritted teeth, "apparently she was mistaken."

The Phantom looked own at his gloved hand in disbelief. The red liquid glittered dully on his fingertips. "I suppose you have purchased the opera house," he spat, straightening as best he could. He was not in mortal peril. It was a deep gash, but it was not a danger to his life.

"I have not," Raoul replied, poised to attack should Erik make any such move. "but I do intend to fund it's operation once more. And you will not cause trouble for the new owner,"

Erik nearly laughed. "And how do you intend to ensure this?" he asked, smirking devilishly at the poor fighter standing before him. He knew that Raoul was no match for him, even if he was wounded.

Raoul looked nervous as the self assured grin spread over The Phantom's features. He wavered in indecision for a moment before grasping a hold of his misplaced bravery. "By sealing your fate," he declared, lunging at the Opera Ghost. Erik simply ducked to the side, reaching out and loosing a few sands bags that dangled from the rafters. They hurtled towards the startled young man, landing squarely upon his head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Erik would have dearly loved to finish the job right then, but the action he had taken had created quite a bit of noise, and he could hear footsteps approaching. Cursing under his breath, he slipped from the scene, clutching at his aching body. He stumbled down the steps towards his lair, exhausted. He couldn't afford to hide out within the opera house that night. Though he doubted anyone would believe Raoul, he didn't want to risk the fact that they might search for him. Raoul knew where to find him, but he had installed many new traps that would surely halt his progress, quite literally, dead in its tracks.

The candles had been extinguished that night, and he tripped up the stairs to his bed, grasping the corner to keep his balance. All he could think of was Raoul, and the fact that he was there. Why? And where was Christine? Could he see her again? Forgetting about the woman occupying his bed, he fell into it, falling to sleep almost intstantly. The girl laying beside the emotionally charged Phantom awoke with a start.


End file.
